Absolutely Nothing
by Chongy
Summary: All the old 7th years (the 'Golden Year') have to go back to Hogwarts, and Draco and Hermione are Head Boy and Girl. Draco is not the same boy he used to be. Sorry I actually can't write a summary for this one. Check it out, you might just find it awesome, but be warned, it has some pretty dark themes in it, so... yeah. :)
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: **__Hi readers! This is quite a dark piece, it involves descriptions of self-harm and things like that and is __**definitely not suitable for people younger than 15.**__ This is quite a... hmm... how do I describe it? This piece is probably more serious than my other two, because this was inspired by The Perks of Being a Wallflower, especially by the poem ("Chops" I think it's called) on page 75, if you happen to have a copy or want to find it in a friend's copy (read it, I urge you, it's so... what's the word? Bittersweet. I read it and I don't know, I was just really inspired by it because the end made me so sad, and it really made me think. it made me think about how that kind of thing happens in real life and how sad and unnecessary it is. So the boy in the end of the poem is Draco, and he feels 'absolutely nothing', which is actually really morbid and stuff like that. Enjoy! (Or maybe not, I hope you will, though.)_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own J.K. Rowling's work (in this case, the Harry Potterverse), and I don't own this poem either. It belongs to Stephen Chbosky from his book The Perks of Being a Wallflower._

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_"That's why on the back of a brown paper bag_

_ he tried another poem_

_And he called it **"A**_**_bsolutely Nothing__"_**

_Because __**that's what it was really all about**_

_And he gave himself an A_

_And __**a **__**slash on each damned wrist**_

_And he hung it on the bathroom door_

_ because this time __**he didn't think**_

**_ he could reach the kitchen_**_."_

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Even when Blaise announced that he and Luna were a couple, standing hand in hand next to each other on the platform, even when they kissed and she looked down at the ground blushing and Blaise tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, he made not a sound, merely inclining his head ever so slightly. There was no change at all in his impassive and blank expression as he turned his gaze away.

A quiet and subdued Draco Malfoy stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, finding a compartment all to himself and sitting in it. He pulled his cloak around him like a shield, bowing his head and not looking at anyone.

He was an Outcast, a Nobody. He was an ex-Death Eater, though many people still considered him to be one. No-one joined him, and he didn't want them to, either. He liked the quiet, liked the peaceful silence that being alone gave him.

It allowed him more time to grieve over his dead parents.

They hadn't done anything wrong, except, of course, joining the Death Eaters on Lucius' part. But they'd never killed, never tortured or done any of the despicable things the other Death Eaters had done. They'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Aurors had come, and they had been in _his_ house, no better off than house elves under Voldemort's rule. And the Aurors, 'knowing' that Lucius was involved in Death Eater activity and him being 'at the scene of the crimes', was killed instantly. His mother was tortured for days for information about the Death Eaters before she finally went insane and killed herself one day in her cell with a rusty knife. Later, he was told it took her days to die, and the Aurors watched her, and the Aurors had done nothing to save her.

Her bloodless body was dumped on Draco's doorstep unceremoniously, and Narcissa Malfoy's shell arrived in a dusty and cracked wooden box, the knots in the wood falling out and creaking ominously as he moved it gently inside the Manor. He had looked around for the deliverer, but there was no-one, not even a note, not even a lie telling him how sorry about his mother's death they were. He had opened the box, tentatively at first. And he called it a box because it wasn't even close to a coffin. It was _nothing _like what his mother deserved.

It was just a box.

It was unworthy of his mother.

And then he saw her.

The books had lied. Dead people weren't peaceful and happy in death. At least, Narcissa wasn't. Her face was pale and sad, and her cheeks were gaunt and there were obvious signs of distress lingering like a bad smell over her body. She didn't look like Narcissa Malfoy; she had been elegant, beautiful. This body looked only like a ghost of her former self; pale and empty and hollow.

None of her warm smiles would greet him ever again. Her gentle arms could never hold him again. And she would never talk to him and calm him down again.

He had cried for days. They were anything but feeble tears, though. He had nearly wrecked the whole Manor in his fury, heart-break and anguish. It was so intense he could feel it burning him like acid from the inside out.

"THAT WAS MY MOTHER!" He had screamed many a time to nobody in particular, which ended in hate-fuelled tears and more destruction.

And he sat in a room of ruin, a house that taunted him, that haunted him with happy memories that he didn't want anymore.

And the silence hung in the air, so different and contrasting to the tinkling crash of glass shattering and the splintering of furniture.

And that was the day that Draco Malfoy picked up a razor.

He was no better or worse off on any side, Light or Dark. Dark killed people outright, Light just included extra torture and used feelings to twist the knife in the wound, to let them suffer before they died.

So he stayed an outcast, watching the rolling green hills out of his window, thinking about how he'd never get packages of sweets from his mother, or notes from his father telling him things about the Ministry; he would miss those the most. The little things, those were the ones that made him the most nostalgic, that made his chest pulse painfully and his soul ache for something more. Those were the things that had turned him to cutting. But the scars on his wrists reminded him of them every day, and that made it worse, a vicious cycle.

So Draco Malfoy sat alone in his compartment, the Head Boy badge on his chest gleaming dully, like his eyes. He felt dead inside, and he seemed to have run out of emotions to express anything with after he had wrecked the Manor. Then he had tidied it up, and buried his mother, digging the grave with his own sweat and tears, and then he pretended that everything was fine, and that everything was okay. And nobody noticed a difference, nobody noticed the change because nobody was there _to notice_ how much of a recluse he had become, how empty his eyes were.

Hermione watched him silently from outside, her eyebrows creasing in the middle. He was so still, so quiet. He could've been a wax figure. She opened the door, and he didn't turn, didn't move at all.

"Um, er..." She wasn't sure what she should call him anymore, whether he should be Malfoy or Draco. She decided on Draco. "Draco, we have to go see McGonagall in the head compartment." Silence. "Can you please come with me? Now?"

He turned to face her, and his eyes were so dead that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. As soon as he made eye contact with her he looked away. "Yes, of course." He murmured, his tone polite but flat. They were the first words he had spoken since the day he had destroyed his house. That meant they were the first words he had spoken out loud for three solid months. His throat felt scratchy and dry. Draco stood in one fluid, elegant movement.

_Everything is fine._

_Everything is okay._

_Everything is normal._

_I am fine, I am okay... I am not normal._

And he walked out of the compartment before Hermione, who frowned slightly in concern, leaving a strange scent hanging in the air, like musk and spice and ice and mint. And somehow, she could detect the faintest whiff of death, though maybe it was just her imagination running away with her, seeing as she had read the Prophet. She knew exactly how Lucius Malfoy had been killed, and she had read about the torturing of Narcissa Malfoy, which had been met with cheers and smiles, and how she had killed herself, slashing her wrists. And there were pictures of her lifeless face and the lake of her blood around her body. It was disgusting. It was gross and vulgar how the Light lauded their so-called 'victory' around like a banner, their offensive and graphic photos of dead and tortured ex-Death Eaters littering the papers like miniature conquests each time a new Death Eater was found and tortured.

They sat next to each other while McGonagall talked to them, and Draco listened politely, quietly absorbing all the information. Hermione watched him, observing the large gap between them on the seat.

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When McGonagall had finished, Draco stood without a word, inclined his head slightly at the Professor, and left, cloak swishing slightly in his wake.

McGonagall turned to Hermione. "You have read all the articles in the papers lately, haven't you, Miss Granger?"

She nodded. "Yes I have. What happened to Draco is... it's..."

"Mr. Malfoy's fate truly is the worst that anyone could wish on someone." She stared at Hermione with beady eyes. "Professor Snape went in to the Manor one day to see Draco, and it... well. You can see, he doesn't talk anymore. I don't think he eats either, you saw how skinny he was. It is heart-breaking to see one of my students in such a distressed state. So I made him Head Boy this year so you can keep an eye on him, so you can watch him and maybe help the sadness I see in his eyes."

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. "I will."

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I hope we can fix this broken young man. He has such potential, and if he... well. He shouldn't waste it."

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She walked back to his compartment, and watched him as she had watched him before. He was in the same seat as before, this time staring at his hands. He looked so lost and alone.

Hermione opened the door and sat opposite him. She thought she saw the ghost of a very small smile on his lips, but it was gone before she could take a second glance.

"Draco," She started quietly, watching him. "do you want to talk about it?"

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**_Author's Note: _**_Daaaaammnnnn itttt I have a feeling I'm going to want to write more for this. I lied, it's probably not going to be a one-shot guys. Just so you know. XD So, what did you think? Good, weird, bad, disturbing? I'd really like to know (it also helps me direct the path of future chapters if I know what my readers like)! Thank you for actually reading it though, please follow and favourite if you enjoyed, and pleeeease leave me a review to let me know what you think of this new one and whether it should be a one-shot or whether I should add more chapters (I think I'll add more chapters anyway, unless people are really against more chapters). Anyway, thank you for reading!_

_~Chongy_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note:_**_ Woo! I updated! Though I do feel terrible for not updating the other two... WRITE *ALL* THE UPDATES! I had homework (not a lot, but it was enough to throw me off-kilter) for the first time in about two months (that's probably the reason it threw me off), and school, and yeah. Hectic. Blargh. And Boyfriend is feeling a little down at the moment, so I am doing my best to be there for him and stuff. So I haven't had a heck of a lot of time to update, which is sad. :'c But it's okay. It's the weekend, and I've done all my homework (ahaha take __**that,**__ teachers!), so enjoy this latest installment of Absolutely Nothing! :)_

_**Disclaimer: **__If I had a will (and I don't, because I don't really own stuff like houses or cars or dogs or lots of money (yet)), nowhere on there would you find "And I leave the Harry Potterverse to granddaughter so-and-so", because a) I'm not old enough, and b) I don't own the Potterverse. I am sorry about that, future granddaughter so-and-so._

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"Do you want to talk about it?"

The question knocked around in his numb mind.

_Talk? Talk about what? Where would I start? How would I even begin to tell her the horrors of what I've seen? Why is she even talking to me? Didn't she hate me? Don't I hate her...?_

And he turned from the window, watching Hermione now. And he pushed up his dark sleeves, the black suit he had many copies of, the suit he wore every day because it was his grieving suit. And he undid his bandages, and he showed her his cuts and scars, the neat railroad tracks he had carved into his arms. Most of them criss-crossed over and into the Dark Mark branded onto his forearm. And he said very quietly, "Talk about what, Granger? There's nothing _to_ talk about. The Light won, the Dark shrivelled and died, and I was trapped in the middle, not evil enough for the Dark and apparently too evil for the Light. _I don't have anything left, Granger_! My whole life has been torn to shreds! I don't belong anywhere, I don't know what's happening, I don't even have a _family anymore, _Granger! NO FRIENDS, NOTHING!" He faltered. "I... I'm alone. I'm all alone. And that's... that's the hardest thing to face." He paused, his molten and fiery silver gaze dropping from hers to the floor. "There is nothing to talk about. Anyway, aren't we supposed to be enemies?"

Hermione was more than a little taken aback by his sudden outburst. Hadn't McGonagall said he didn't talk? And the scars and cuts on his arms! She winced involuntarily as he put the bandages back over them. She watched him closely, surprised to see flecks of anger and hurt in them when they had been so dead before. He looked more animated when he was talking to her. Maybe that could be the key to healing him.

"Well, Draco, seeing as it looks like you don't have any friends at the moment-" She gestured around his compartment, and he dipped his head lower, his hair shifting forwards to hide his eyes, which were seething with hurt. "I'll be your friend."

His head shot up, perplexed, and his forehead creased. "But we're enem-"

"Draco, the war is over. And I know it sometimes doesn't feel like that, especially with that idiot Cornelius Fudge as temporary Minister until they find Kingsley-" Draco made a disgusted noise at the mention of Fudge. "But I am not against you anymore. You have friends, but you're just not... here anymore. So while you... get used to your... situation, we can be friends."

"I..." He bit his lip, still confused. "I... okay, then, Granger."

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He sat at the Slytherin table, and Blaise sat next to him. Blaise was trying to talk to Draco, but Draco wasn't really listening.

"Your new Head Girl is the lovely Miss Hermione Granger, of Gryffindor."  
Everyone cheered. They whistled and clapped, hooting and yelling, Gryffindors especially, filling the Great Hall with an explosion of sound.

After a few minutes, Professor McGonagall managed to quieten the school. "And your Head Boy is... Mr. Draco Malfoy, of Slytherin."

Just polite clapping and booing from the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs for him. He looked down at his plate, ignoring the people congratulating him and patting his back at his own table and pushing his food around his plate. After the Sorting Hat had finished, and all the other speeches were made, he said, "Sorry, Zabini. I just... I... I'm not hungry." And he stood abruptly and left, all the eyes in the Great Hall turning coldly to follow the pale blonde in his sweeping robes retreat.

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Draco stood at the sink in the Heads' bathroom, enjoying the privacy of being alone.

Granger was still at the Feast, and he was grateful for that. He didn't want anyone, especially her because she'd been so nice to him on the train, seeing what he was doing, even though she'd already seen his scars.

Another crippling wave of pain gripped him, and he gasped, sinking to the floor and holding the edge of the sink for support. It got like this if he hadn't done it for over a fortnight; the pain of all his losses just kept building up, and his cuts were usually too deep because he accidentally went too far to find his release. He just wanted to stop feeling anymore, for nothing to matter, to cease to even realise he existed. It just wasn't fair that he was here, and his parents, his only family, weren't.

"I have to... I have to do it..." he told himself, gritting his teeth and dragging himself up.

Draco stared at himself in the mirror. A pale, delicate, aristocratic face, devastatingly handsome to some maybe, but Draco only saw the tortured expression and the too-defined cheekbones that told him he wasn't eating properly. He chuckled, but there was no humour and it was a very dark sound. _More like not eating at all._ _Again_.

His eyes were a stormy blue-gray, and they stared back at him with pain and depression clearly reflected in them.

Draco picked up the razor, holding his left forearm out over the sink, his Dark Mark glowing ebony against his pale skin.  
He drew a line through the Mark with it, throwing his head back as the pain flowed through him. It wasn't the same pain, though. It let him concentrate on himself, it let him push the shadows away, if only for another week. It let him focus on the pain in his body, rather than the constant aching and tearing pain that he felt almost always in his mind. It kept him sane, and yet pushed him further towards madness.

Blood oozed from the fresh cut, blossoming like gory flowers in the sink as it dripped from his forearm. Looking at it, he let out a quiet noise of content, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. He couldn't believe he had had to return to school, act normal, but nothing- he chuckled darkly- nothing was normal.

Certainly not this habit of self-harm and mutilation he'd developed when the War had ended. He teetered constantly on the edge of doing himself in, but he figured his mother would never want him to do that. Plus, Granger had given him something to look forward to. A friend. He had a friend. Someone who cared about him.

He cut again, blood springing wherever the blade touched. The Dark Mark on his forearm was now completely covered in blood. He looked down at it interestedly, downing the razor and swiping some of his blood up with a forefinger. It was a brilliant crimson, but no different from anyone else's blood. He smeared it over the mirror, pressing his forehead to it. It was stupid, those prejudices his father had drummed into him, but they were all he knew; he clung to those ideals and beliefs because he didn't know what he would do if he didn't. They were his only bond to his family, the only tie to the glorious life of ignorance he had lead before the War.

He strengthened that tie, cut deeper into the Dark Mark, sacrificing blood to the dead Dark Lord, hoping in vain it would give him the final release he so desperately wished for. But the Dark Lord was finished, and cutting his flesh wouldn't really help anyone, not his warped beliefs, not his mother and definitely not himself.

But Granger was different. Granger wasn't a Mudblood in his eyes anymore, and he didn't really believe in any of that crap anyway. But he still thought about it, and it still clung to the back of his mind like a toxic mould.

He heard the door of the Heads' Common Room open, and realised, to his horror, he'd left the bathroom door wide open, thinking he'd be alone for a lot longer.

His eyes caught Hermione's through the glass. She stared back with a mixture of horror and shock.

It was then Draco remembered the blood on the mirror.

"Fuck." he spat, before turning and slamming the door shut, locking it behind him.  
He trudged back to the blood-filled sink, and picked up the blade one last time, letting out a strangled cry of mingled ecstasy and agony as his pain fell in droplets upon the tiled floor.

He pointed his wand at the sink, panting heavily and sinking to the floor, _Scourgify_ing the white porcelain of his blood. Then he cleaned the mirror, and finally pointed his wand at his arm. He didn't want to fix himself, he wanted the pain to last forever, he wanted to stay broken forever, but he had to keep up appearances, even if his mind was broken.

"Curatio." he said, watching his skin knit back together as he washed the scarlet off his arm.

A tentative knock on the bathroom door.

"Draco?"

He stared at his reflection again; pale, sad, and agonised. Then he steeled himself and replaced it with an impassive mask. He slowly staggered to his feet and opened the door, leaning heavily against it. "What do you want, Granger?" he said tiredly, looking down at her. His buzz had faded too soon, as it always did; the sadness was already sinking into his bones again.

She looked taken aback. "I just wanted to see if you were okay...?" she said confusedly, watching his guarded expression. "There was blood on the mirror and I thought... Well, that you might've been hurt, or something-"

Hermione was lying horribly, and they both knew it, because they both really knew what he had been doing.

"Forget about it, Granger. I was reading and accidentally cut myself on the damned paper. Happy?"

"No." She said, raising an eyebrow. "Let me see your wrists."

"Go ahead." He held his arms out, and she examined them closely.

"You have new scars." She said, her voice no more than a whisper. "Draco, you _were_ cut-"

"Please, drop it, Granger."

"No, this is important-"

"No, it's not! It's how I live now; get used to it! I just... it helps me deal with things. Please, Granger. Leave it be."

She gave him a scowl. "No I won't _leave it be_." She marched into the bathroom, pushing Draco aside and picking up his razor from the side of the sink.

"Fuck." He said again, this time gritting his teeth in frustration. "Granger, just hand it over. You don't want to be touching that thing."

He said it with such abhorrence in his voice that Hermione handed it over almost instantly, even though she didn't want to. "Why are you so disgusted by it?"

Draco slipped it into his pocket and frowned. "Because I have to rely on it to get me by, to keep me sane. It's like a drug. And I hate it, but I can't stop it, because if I do... I think I would go mad." He paused. "I haven't talked to anyone about this before. Even though I only just started a couple of months ago... it's weird. I don't know why I'm sharing so much with you. Maybe because... maybe because I haven't talked to anyone about anything before."

"Well I'll be here to talk to the whole year, seeing as we're sharing a Common Room."

"Yeah. I guess."

"I'm going to help you, Draco. And to start, I'm going to have to take that razor back-"

"No way in fucking hell, Granger. Anything but that."

"Seriously? You can find knives everywhere-"

"But this one is-"

"Just give it to me, Draco. Do you want help or not?" She held her hand out.

"I..." He was at a loss for words. She was his only friend, and he didn't want to lose her. The razor was placed gently in her hand. "Don't... I... hide it. Don't even look at that despicable object." And Draco walked out of the bathroom and hid in his room, leaning back against the door. And suddenly all his suppressed emotions were spilling forth like water from a floodgate, and he starting to sob uncontrollably into his knees, which were up by his chest and his arms were wrapped around himself.

Hermione stood for a long time in front of Draco's door, listening to him cry, not sure if she wanted to go in and support him, or let him have his alone time. She decided he'd had too much alone time already, and knocked on the door.

"Draco?"

"Please, Granger. Go away. I... I need..."

She opened the door anyway, pushing him forwards. "You need a friend. Friends support each other, right?" He looked up, and Hermione saw that he looked worse than he had on the train. "You're never going to cut again, Draco. I promise you that."

He nodded absently, tears still silently coursing down his cheeks. Then he stood up and walked out to the common room, standing in front of the fire and looking at his feet again. "I miss them. I miss them so much." He said, but his voice was so quiet Hermione didn't think he'd said anything at all. She stood next to him, rubbing his back as he watched the fire, an unreadable expression on his face.

Again, Hermione noticed how lost and lonely he looked. And this time, she decided to act upon it. And she put her arms around him and held him there. He was warm, but so rail-thin it scared her. He didn't move at first, unsure of how to react to this new development. It felt nice, and she was a lot smaller than him, so her head rested comfortably against his chest. He liked that. And so Draco wrapped his arms around her and held her close, burying his nose in her long, bushy hair. He thought of his father. He thought of his mother. And thinking of them while holding Hermione seemed to take a little of the pain away.

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_**Author's Note: **__Yes, I decided that I'd speed up the romance in this one, purely because I like writing about romancey things because they're cute and fluffy and it will make a nice change from the morbid stuff otherwise written in this one. :D Anyway, leave me a review, and follow and favourite if you enjoyed! Thank you for reading my story!_

_~Chongy_


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